


Snow

by ThatsrightZoeyeyye



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, StarKid Productions RPF
Genre: Black Friday Spoilers, Tom POV, exploring jane's feelings about emma being gone through eight winters, the eight winters when tim and jane were both alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21695941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatsrightZoeyeyye/pseuds/ThatsrightZoeyeyye
Summary: For Tim's first Christmas, Jane had sent Emma an invitation. Foolish hope, maybe. Emma had been away for three years, and rarely sent any letters. Jane had tried not to think about it, focusing all her attention on her son. It hadn't snowed that year, and she had said it was for the best."Wouldn't want Tim to catch a cold, now, would we?" she had chuckled every time someone had mentioned it.
Relationships: Tom Houston/Jane Perkins-Houston
Kudos: 25





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkid writes discord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=starkid+writes+discord).

> prompt: "snow" from the starkid writes discord server

"You know what he was doing this time last year?" Tom bellowed, "he was sledding, with his mother."

Emma looked down, and Tom stared at her, waiting for her to say something. He didn't know what he wanted her to say. Maybe an apology, or an explanation for a decade-long absence. She wasn't responsible for Jane's death, but she was responsible for some of her pain, for the Christmases Jane had spent without any of her family.

-

For Tim's first Christmas, Jane had sent Emma an invitation. Foolish hope, maybe. Emma had been away for three years, and rarely sent any letters. Jane had tried not to think about it, focusing all her attention on her son. It hadn't snowed that year, and she had said it was for the best.

"Wouldn't want Tim to catch a cold, now, would we?" she had chuckled every time someone had mentioned it.

Tom had still noticed how many times she had looked at the pictures on her parents' mantelpiece, particularly a small one in the corner. It showed a three-year-old Jane, whose chestnut braids were covered with snow. She was beaming at a toddler in her arms, bundled in too many layers of clothes, cheeks red with the cold, giggling back at her sister. Jane had loved that picture. Tom had never had the occasion to know what Emma thought about it.

-

The first time Tim had seen snow, he was 18 months old. Jane had made him wear two jumpers, a thick scarf around his head and a second, bigger, fluffier one around his neck. Tim was already complaining, pulling at his scarf with his tiny hands, but Jane hadn't let him go. She had made him wear a winter coat, the one Jane and Emma had worn when they were his age, as well of small knitted gloves, thick woolen mittens, and a warm beanie. Tim had thrown a tantrum, crying and screaming, but had stopped the minute they had stepped outside, feeling the freezing wind on the few inches of skin that were uncovered.

Jane had held him in his arms, her air covered with snow, and she had smiled down at her son as he giggled at her, trying to catch flakes in his hands. Tom had taken a picture. They had printed it out and put in on her parents' mantelpiece.

-

The second time he had seen snow, he had been two years old. School had been canceled for the day, and they had all stayed home and watched the snow storm from the warmth of their living room. Tim had been scared, by the wind howling around the house, the thickness of the clouds. But once the sky had cleared, with a smooth layer of snow shining under a feeble sun, Tim's eyes had shone in wonder. Jane had smiled, laughing softly, and Tom had never been more in love.

-

A few months later, Jane's parents had died. They hadn't seen Emma in years. Jane had sent her an invitation to the funeral, but there had been no response. No quick apology written in a smudged handwriting on the back of the card, no hurried excuse. It had probably gotten lost on the way. Jane hadn't sent a second invitation.

-

Everyone agreed that it used to snow every year where they lived. Nobody really talked about climate change in these times, but they still saw the effects of it. Emma didn't notice. In one of her brief letters, she had mentioned the lack of snow where she was. Jane thought it was sad, Emma didn't seem to. It had been five years since they had last seen each other. Every once in a while, Jane would read all of her sister's letters. It never took more than fifteen minutes.

When Tim was four years old, with no snow for the second year in a row, Jane had insisted to go skiing in the mountains. Tom hated skiing, but he had gone with them. He had taken a picture of Tim, standing proudly on his rented blue skis, engulfed in thick clothes and a scarf that covered half of his face. It had made Jane happy.

-

When he was six years old, there had been snow again in their town. It had only stayed for two days, but it was more than they had gotten used to expect. Tim had been sick, and hadn't been allowed to go outside for too long, but the snowman he and Jane had made was beautiful. Emma had written her longest letter yet: twelve lines of tiny handwriting, thirty three sentences. There were usually less than half of that. It had showed no sign of return, but Jane had smiled anyway. She had learnt not to expect too much.

-

For Tim's seventh Christmas, there had been no snow. Jane had taken them to the ice-skating rink. Emma had loved ice-skating. Tim hadn't liked it. Tom hadn't tried.

-

When Tim was eight year old, there had been a snow storm. For the first time in years, there was enough snow to go sledding in the fields behind Tom's parents' house. Jane and Tim hadn't stopped laughing for three days. They had spent most of Thanksgiving break outside, building snowmen and having snowball fights and sledding down the hill. Tom had stayed home. He didn't like snow.

-

In hindsight, Tom wished he had known it would be her last Christmas, the last time she had seen snow. He wished he could have tried harder to make her happy, to make their marriage better. He wished he had learnt how to be a good parent he became the only parent Tim had. He wished he had asked how to make Tim happy before he lost Jane. He wished he could have loved her like she deserved to be loved.

Sometimes, he wished his grief were heavier. He wished that loving Becky wouldn't be so easy, he wished he felt guilty about being over Jane. He wished he could have told Tim "I'm sorry" and meant it.

But Tim got used to it. He got used to the light tinge of grief and guilt in his heart. He got used to his love for Becky overpowering it. He got used to waking up in her arms, to comforting her after nightmare, to reminding her that Black Friday was well in the past, reminding himself that it was. He got used to loving her and being loved by her. He got used to Tim calling her "mom", and to the way Becky's eyes shone with love and pride and happiness each time.

He forgave Emma. It probably wasn't his decision to make, but he figured Jane would forgive her. She would throw herself in her sister's arms and immediately start narrating every event she had missed, not noticing Emma's annoyance. Tom didn't do exactly that, but he did make the effort to sit with her and talk to her about it. About Jane, Tim, Hatchetfield. About the sadness and the frustration, the hope that Jane had kept all along, through the disappointments. Emma apologized. Paul put his hand or her shoulder and she rested her head on his. Tom forgave her. He was still a little angry, but Jane would have forgiven her. So he did too.


End file.
